


Seven Minutes in Heaven

by canis_lupus_nubilus



Category: Power Rangers Dino Charge
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Chiley, Fluff, M/M, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 09:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12318714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canis_lupus_nubilus/pseuds/canis_lupus_nubilus
Summary: Chase and Riley play ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven,’ and chaos ensues, with Chase working diligently to clean up the mess.





	Seven Minutes in Heaven

**Title:** Seven Minutes in Heaven  
**Author:** canis-lupus-nubilus  
**Series:** _Power Rangers Dino Charge_  
**Chapter:** One-Shot  
**Genre:** Romance/Angst/Fluff  
**Pairings:** Chase/Riley  
**Warnings:** Boy-love. Don’t like, don’t read.

* * *

_This was a mistake. Okay? So just… just forget it._

Like _hell_ he’s going to “just forget it,” no matter what Riley has to say about it. Not after he’s seen the other boy’s face contort into what he can only assume was very real, tortuous struggle. Not after he’s gone and let _himself_ be vulnerable, if only for a brief moment. And, as anyone who has ever held a significant conversation longer than sixty seconds with Chase Randall knows, that isn’t exactly a common occurrence. He might be upfront, even predictably ingenuous, but he’s not naïve. There are certain things you just don’t let go of, even if someone threatens to pry them out of you – not until you’re ready.

Nuh-uh. Nope. No one is going to dictate what Chase Randall can or cannot do. Not today, tomorrow, not ever. And especially not a bossy, pretentious, (adorable), awkward, eccentric, (precious), obnoxious, know-it-all _pretty boy_ who thinks he knows more about Chase’s feelings than Chase himself. Game or no game…

Hence the bracing, almost crashing knock against the other boy’s door that he’s pretty sure will wake the entire place but, what the hell, Riley started this, and now he’s going to help finish it.

A moment more and only silence has penetrated the eerie quiet of the hallway. Chase tries again, harder, and the hallway light above the door flickers momentarily.

“ _Riley_ ,” he groans through the door, his patience long since exhausted. “Open up.”

Almost imperceptibly, ear close to the wooden surface, Chase hears a quiet, mousy, “No.”

_Well. At least he’s still awake. That solves one problem._

Chase lowers his voice but not his agitation. If Riley wants to drag this out all night, it’ll be Chase who’ll outlast him. “I’m serious. Open the door.” After another awful, pregnant pause, he adds solidly, “If I have to break the door down I’ll do it, mate.”

The voice on the other side of the door rises an octave, hurried and anxious and squeaky. “You _won’t_.”

A smirk forms at the corner of Chase’s mouth. _Now I’ve got him_. “Try me.”

The unmistakable force of weight against the lower half of the door stirs Chase for a moment, causing him to start. Using every ounce of control to temper his temper, so to speak, he steadily lowers himself to the floor, kneeling down and pressing his forehead against the cold barrier between them. “Riley,” he pleads, keeping his tone at a register that oscillates somewhere between demanding and intimidating (no use backing down now, after all), “ _Please_.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Riley mutters shortly, resolutely. “And anyway, I’m going to bed now.”

Chase rolls his eyes theatrically, an audible snort escaping, rather rudely, from his nostrils. “Like I believe that.”

With the most unconvincing effort at nonchalance, Riley replies, “Everyone else is in bed. Why shouldn’t we be?”

“Try harder, mate.”

“I’m serious.” Riley’s voice dissolves back into a hurried whisper. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“You _know_ why,” Chase grunts, his annoyance with the other boy stirring up again. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this kind of treatment? _Honestly_.”

“ _You’re_ barricading _my_ bedroom door and keeping _me_ from going to _bed_!” Riley retorts sharply, his own tone beginning to reflect Chase’s with each aggressive emphasis of words.

Heaving an enormous, exhausted sigh, Chase allows his body to fall back against the door, which elicits a loud _bump_ that makes Riley jump (though, thankfully for his pride, Chase can’t have seen).

Really, this had all gotten way out of hand from the very start. Chase had known solely from reading the shocked and bewildered look on the other boy’s face that both of them were venturing into territory best left alone, but by then it was much too late. Why is it you only know these kinds of things in retrospect, anyway? Who could have foreseen a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven going so _horribly south_ so quickly? Shelby had drawn both boys’ names out of the hat and read them aloud, and Riley’s mouth had morphed into a cartoonishly fearful oblong, his eyes opening wide.

But Chase… well, okay, maybe he’d been a little too eager, after all, grabbing the boy’s arm and enthusiastically pulling him along with a not-at-all-reassuring, _I never back down from a challenge._

Fine. Duly recognized. _Mea culpa, mea culpa_. Whatever _._ More than once girls had described him as slightly over-eager so, really, this was just par for the course as far as Chase’s exploits were concerned. But not even that fact could have prepared him for this, now, his cheek pressed against the door. He may as well be trying to coax blood from a stone…

“Do you want an apology?” Chase finally asks through a heavy sigh. “Because if you want one, I’ve got a trunkful out here with your name on it.” When Riley fails to reply, Chase adds, lowly, under his breath, “You’re sitting against the door. I can see your shadow slipping out.”

“ _Stop_ ,” the other boy’s voice whispers back to him, suddenly stoic and measured and a bit harder to parse.

For through the door Riley’s own cheek also presses softly, nervously, trembling slightly with each anxious breath that stirs the rising and falling of his chest. He slowly moves away, hoping he’s said enough, that Chase will hear and will _listen_ and _go away_ and give him a moment’s peace… Now, especially, Riley doesn’t want to think. Not about the night’s events, not about the way his chest has suddenly begun to ache and flutter, and definitely not about Chase. Choking back something sharp and wet in his throat, Riley pleads with the other boy one final time: “Go back to your room and go to bed, Chase.”

Considering who his listener is, truthfully, he should know better.

Without missing a beat Chase’s fist comes crashing against the door’s center, his rage announcing itself brutishly and without apology, no longer caring anymore who might hear and come running, echoing an elephantine crash that ripples like needlepoints across Riley’s ears and causes him to jump in shock and nearly tumble backwards. His arms tingle with gooseflesh as he waits to hear what might come next – to hear if Chase really _is_ stupid enough to break down a door in the middle of the night with an entire audience to bear witness and a million awkward questions to answer.

But that’s not what he hears at all. On the other side of the door, Chase is the one who has fallen backwards, his back muscles tense against the cold floor, his feet pushing softly, more relaxed now, against the door’s surface as he stares up at the dimly-lit ceiling. Given time, his breathing slows, mellowing out into a reasonable rhythm. He sniffles, resigned and defeated, his hands resting gently against his chest, the thick cotton of his hoodie. “All this punishment,” he whispers, just loud enough for Riley to hear. “Just for a kiss.”

A dull, pitiful prickling in his breast, and the moment comes vividly back… Riley, his legs trembling, his palms moister than they’d been not five minutes ago, his cheeks a pink flush hidden in shadow within the dark of the storage closet… An awful silence in which neither boy speaks but anticipation floods the void of space between them. Riley’s mouth makes feckless efforts to open and close but his lips are dry; the roof of his mouth feels raw.

And Chase’s unruly, boyish grin (Riley swore he could see it there, even in the dark, however blind to everything else he may have been…) like a radar’s periodic blip, ever-present… His assured voice finally breaking the silence between them.

 _What’s the matter?_ Chase’s voice is teasing, and… no, Riley can’t be imagining it: sardonic. Listening to the other boy, feeling his confidence wash over Riley’s burgeoning insecurities, he cannot help himself; he flinches. _Don’t you wanna’ kiss me?_

This isn’t what he wanted. He tries to swallow and finds it hurts.

Another silence, but something’s changed – it occurs to Riley too late that the rhythmic stream of the other boy’s exhales, the sole ambient constant in the quiet, has stopped completely. Riley shifts his weight to his toes and, as the yellow light streaming in from under the door prismatically breaks, he once again gets the sensation that he can see exactly the transformations occurring on the other boy’s face. In the dark Riley’s mind paints a picture of cheek muscles taught, lips partly opened, eyebrows arched. Eyes like crystalline, like a pool with depths he can’t see. And, in the new silence, bedlam, as both boys stare into the darkness, looking in the space where they know the other’s eyes must be looking back. Chase inhales, suddenly comprehending yet ultimately misunderstanding…

 _Mate_ , touching the hem of Riley’s shirt and tugging slightly, which Riley feels intensely, acutely, _you don’t need to—_

It happens before he can stop himself, before he even registers the movements of his hands or the pulse of his neck or the lifting of his heels… Or the sudden struggle to breathe. He is already there, fumbling foolishly at the other boy’s chest, his mouth pushing desperately, needily upward, into whatever skin it can find. He lands haphazardly, off-course, kissing clumsily the crevice just below Chase’s bottom lip.

Eyes shut hard, scared to imagine the other boy’s possible reaction but seeing it in his mind’s eye all the same, Riley waits, still, heart fluttering awfully… He pulls away only when it occurs to him how awkward it would be to stand there much longer, his face forcibly attached to Chase’s. Almost immediately, he feels ridiculous and impulsive and ashamed but, against the tide of emotions bearing down heavy against his breast, he speaks up, wiping his lips with his fist against his deeper desires.

 _Listen_ , he mutters defiantly, purposefully. _There’s something I want to tell you…_

“Not a punishment,” Riley lies weakly. “Don’t be silly.”

“No?” Chase asks, hands resting behind his head as his toes begin to stretch and curl, rubbing tired circles into the door’s polished surface. “Because that’s what it looks like from where I am.”

“We can talk in the morning,” Riley finally offers exhaustedly. “I’ll come see you and we can… I don’t know. Talk—”

But Chase is quicker. “Oh, no. I know that trick. You think you’re gonna’ sleep this one off and pretend like nothing tonight ever happened and then act like _I’m_ imagining things.” He chuckles, admittedly kind of proud of himself for being able to read the other boy so well, after all this time. “I’m not leaving until you open this door and let me talk to you. End of story. I’ll keep you up all night.”

Grimacing, Riley replies, “That sounds about right.”

“I’m all relaxed out here. All comfy. I can lay here as long as I need to if it means you’ll let me in.”

There it is again: subliminal, maybe even nonexistent, but something in Chase’s words grabs hold of Riley’s stomach and squeezes tight. Collapsing onto his back, arms outstretched, exhaling with the strength of a bellows, Riley says, “I hate this. I _really_ hate this.”

“At least tell me what I did,” Chase begs, adding after a moment of quiet thought: “Or didn’t do.”

“It’s not that. You didn’t do anything at all.”

Chase asks, lifting himself back up into a sitting position like a primary schoolboy, “ _Should_ I have?”

Another pause, before Riley replies, thoughtfully, “No. No, you shouldn’t have. And you don’t need to now. All you need to do is leave me alone. You know the truth, so let me stew in silence.”

“Oh come _on_ , mate.” But even Chase lets slip another smirk. “You weren’t made for the stage… ”

“Just think about how this must be for me,” Riley offers, closing his eyes and rocking his head lazily against the floor like a child’s ragdoll. “Think about how much of an _idiot_ I must feel at this very moment, Chase. Okay? I regret, literally, everything I said to you. I should have just kept quiet and got on with things and not let something as stupid as a childish _party game_ get to me like that—”

“There’s a word for it.”

“Party game?” Riley asks.

“Childish,” Chase offers under his breath.

Stifling a grunt, Riley barrels onward anyway: “Whatever. People don’t _do_ things like that, except in cheesy, ludicrous, over-the-top teenage dramas. I don’t know what came over me. I don’t know what happened… What normal person just…”

And this time Riley _knows_ Chase is grinning – because _of course_ – and he rolls his eyes and pretends he doesn’t hear when the other boy suggests: “Makes passionate, heartfelt, dramatic confessions of love?”

“Oh shut up, Chase.”

“Then answer me this,” Chase says, scooting closer to the door, making sure Riley hears every word. “Why make an even bigger scene by running out like that? The others thought you were having a panic attack—”

“I _was_ , Chase.”

“—and I had to cover with a story, saying how you had an upset stomach all of a sudden from whatever you had for dinner. And then Tyler all grins and giggles asks if we really pashed—”

“He did not.”

“—and, well, I’m left there blank and confused and feelin’ pretty silly, so what was I supposed to say, Riley?”

Riley’s eyes open again, sharp. “You didn’t tell him—”

“’Course I didn’t,” Chase says calmly, picking a small splinter out of his sock. “Said you called me a sheep’s arse and then looked like you were gonna’ be sick. Koda tried to follow you. Told him you’d be fine once you got it all out.”

“Perfect,” Riley says, feigning indifference and bitterly closing his eyes again.

“And anyway,” allowing his fingers to drum a tinny tune against the door, a melody unknowingly synchronized with Riley’s drumming heart, “I _kissed you back_.”

Somewhere, one floor up, a creaky echo sounds with the hobbled, sleepy movements of feet trudging and sliding across the floor. An ant crawls, alone, across Chase’s sock, cautiously navigating a terrain of fabric, hurrying somewhere. “So tell me,” Chase impatiently begins again, hearing nothing but silence on the other side of the door, “after all that… what’s even the matter? What’ve I done to hurt you?”

When Riley finally does speak again, his voice is trembling. “Do you remember what you said?” Then, steadying himself, “When you leaned in and took my wrist in your hand and… kissed me?”

“Don’t think I said _anything_ seeing as I was too busy pashing you.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Riley finally sits up, too, sliding steadily back to the door, to Chase. “After that. After you pulled away. Do you remember what you said, Chase?”

He doesn’t, truth be told. What he can remember is an ephemeral blur: Riley’s hectic breathing; the smell of mothballs and dust; cold, slightly cracked lips pressed against his warm own; and then the unexpected, piercing intrusion of light as the door bursts outward and Riley is running out arse-over-teakettle, nearly tripping over his own feet, but not before Chase is able to catch a glimpse of the boy’s look of abject embarrassment or shame or terror or whatever the hell it is… And he wonders to himself, staring blankly ahead at no one, what he could have done to make someone else feel so… _bad_.

“I don’t remember,” Chase says, shaking his head. “Riley, I honestly don’t remember. But listen, mate, I wasn’t exactly paying close attention to what was coming out of my mouth, yeah? So please don’t take offense to anything I might have said. I promise I didn’t mean any harm. Don’t be sore at me.”

“You said,” Riley begins, holding his breath, “that it was all fine, everything was fine, and—”

“Right, right,” Chase interjects. “I remember _that_ much: that everything was fine and how bad I felt for making you uncomfortable, that I may as well return the favor, it’s what I do with girls, anyway, and... that’s about when you ran out on me.” Considering his words, Chase asks, “You’re not… jealous or anything, are you?”

“No.” Riley’s body leans against the door again, sulkily – Chase can hear it. “I’m not jealous.”

“Then what is it?” Chase demands. “Tell me the truth.”

“It’s just that I _knew_ that’s what you’d say.” The words tumble clumsily, hurried, out of Riley’s mouth before he can stop them. He pushes his forehead into his hand. “That’s why I was so afraid. Same ole’ story, right? Boy falls for straight boy; boy, driven by circumstances, confesses said falling for straight boy _to_ straight boy; straight boy apologetically tries not to hurt boy’s feelings… In the end, said straight boy gets a laugh, something funny to tell to his _next_ conquest, something they can both laugh over… Because he isn’t going to back down from a challenge.” Riley stops momentarily, catching his breath. He hears a slight, muffled shuffling from Chase’s side of the door, but continues anyway: “Now imagine what that must be like, Chase. Because it’s not just you… It’s _any_ time I’ve ever felt this way about anyone. Okay? And maybe… Maybe I just don’t feel like I want to be another boy’s playful conquest. This isn’t just a fun challenge, seeing how far you’ll go in a game of chicken you’re always going to win anyway. This is my _life_ …”

He finishes, expecting to hear a hot torrent of protest from Chase, expecting the boy to finally, exasperated, stand up and walk away and leave Riley to his shame… But he hears nothing. As far as Riley can tell, Chase has been struck dumb, caught full of the silence surrounding them both.

“So that’s why.” Riley sniffles, wiping away moisture from his nose onto his sleeve. “That’s why I…”

He touches the door. His fingernails scrape against a splinter, but he doesn’t notice. “Chase?”

Nothing. Not even a shuffle or grunt or objection of any kind. Riley at least expected _something_ in the way of response. Is Chase just thinking of something to say? Riley presses his ear to the door but can’t pick up any breathing, any signs of life, even… If he did leave, if he really had grown too tired and too annoyed with what Riley had to say, there was no way to know, not with Chase clad in sock-feet.

This is what he wanted… Right? Riley’s chest begins to relax, letting go of some of the built-up anxiety that has accumulated throughout the evening and night. Yes. Now, maybe, he can get some rest. Get some rest and pretend that none of this ever happened… He’ll never be able to look Chase in the eye again, sure, but at least, with time and effort, he might be able to someday mend his dignity, his heart…

Standing, he feels blood rush back to his feet as if up and over a brim. The weight of his body returns to him. Slowly, it seems as if he’s coming back down to Earth…

He makes it halfway to his bed before he hears it: the harsh, forced sliding of something against a wooden surface. He turns back to his bedroom door, bewildered. He murmurs, his voice trembling, “Chase…?”

He sees his door push back against its frame once, twice, three times from impressive force; all the while the incessant prodding or pulling or _clicking_ or knocking or… And then something clicks in Riley’s head, a synapse snaps and a mental light switches on, he realizes what Chase is about to do, and before he can object or bar the door or even _groan_ , the door has already given in, pushing inward, and said straight boy is already stepping over the threshold, a battered, manhandled-looking credit card falling from his right hand, his cheeks pink, his chest heaving.

They stare at one another gravely, silently, full of things… For, at the most, four seconds, before Riley has made a bee-line for his bed – feeling a bit silly for thinking his duvet is going to hide him but, well, desperate times, et cetera – and has reached for a pillow, perhaps as a hasty weapon of choice. But before he can even properly grip it tight Chase is on him, turning him onto his back; the boy’s weight pushes against him; hands grip his wrists and hold them uselessly above his head. Riley mumbles a stifled _gerroffme_ before Chase has seated himself on Riley’s pelvis, unmovable. A warm, terribly obvious flush exposes his discomfort as he lets out a whiny, subdued, “Chase—”

“Two things.” Chase’s eyes are hard, stolid; his tone of voice is impossible to decipher. “First, don’t ever assume you know more about me than I do. Because you _don’t_ know me. Maybe you don’t really know anyone as well as you think you do, pretty-boy.”

Riley protests, wriggling his lower body, trying to push against Chase’s weight and failing miserably. Worn down, he eventually settles (though not without making clear his distaste for his current position with a firm, resolute pout), his eyes searching Chase’s for some kind of hint as to what exactly the other boy is about to say…

He nods begrudgingly.

“Second,” Chase continues, “if you’re gonna’ know anything about me, know this: I don’t play with people’s hearts.”

Riley turns his head away, saying through a subtle scoff, “You’d flirt with a brick wall if you thought it would talk back.”

“I like to flirt, yeah,” Chase admits, his grip still tight against the other boy’s wrists. “I’m a flirtatious guy, and I’m not ashamed to say that. But that doesn’t mean I’d lead you on, mate.” Seeing Riley’s forehead wrinkle in abrupt thought, he adds, “I’m not as vicious as you’re making me out to be. When I kissed you? That was me being vulnerable, too. Maybe in that moment it wasn’t all about what you were feeling.”

“But you said I was just another challenge,” Riley interjects, the precariousness of his voice betraying the developing fissures in prior confidence. “You said you didn’t want to hurt my feelings—”

“I _don’t_ ,” Chase insists, his weight pressing down slightly harder, to Riley’s surprise and discomfort. He evens his voice into a placid tone before continuing, hoping he isn’t coming across as too aggressive though quietly admitting it’s probably a little late for that. “I say silly things all the time, Riley. I say things like that because I’m just goofing off, because I’m not taking things too seriously. That’s just who I am; I can’t apologize for that. But I never meant _you_ were just another conquest… Because…” And suddenly it’s Chase’s words that terminate, insufficient, like light and air in his mouth. He struggles, as if searching for words more appropriate, more prescient than what he currently possesses.

But then Riley’s eyes soften, and Chase’s heart leaps up into his throat, and he decides he just doesn’t care anymore. “Because how could you ever be just another conquest to me?”

Something in Chase’s words, something Riley has never heard before or perhaps just never took the time to listen for, seems to ring sincerely, though Riley feels he cannot be too sure. The stakes are too high: is he only hearing what he _wants_ to hear, interpreting Chase’s words in the most palliative mode? He knows his poison well enough – he doesn’t want to get hurt, not now, not if he lets his guard down for the second time in one evening (which, honestly, has to be a record). But he cannot help it. His defenses begin to shake and crumble, and Riley feels exposed, completely vulnerable. It isn’t exactly a pleasant feeling, not knowing… No: more than anything else, it terrifies him.

“You said you like girls,” Riley utters more to himself, eyes still locked with Chase’s. “Are you saying—?”

“I like girls,” Chase answers firmly, his grip on Riley slackening, his muscles relaxing. “And I like you, too, Riley Griffin.” Riley’s eyes widen and his mouth opens ever so slightly, taking in Chase’s words, and Chase laughs, deep and hearty, seeing the disbelief latent there. “Don’t act so baffled, mate. World isn’t black and white.”

“I…” Riley begins, but cannot finish. He blinks and his eyelashes flutter with pulse. “I didn’t…”

“I get why you’d be so scared and hesitant and defensive,” Chase assists him empathetically, moving backward and allowing the other boy to move his wrists back down to his sides. “And I’m sorry you felt like you needed to be that way around me. But I promise: I get it.”

At this, Riley pushes his body upward, his eyes intense and dark and penetrating. Chase starts, the hair on his neck tingling and erect. In all his memory, he’s never seen Riley look so… pleading.

“So,” he hears Riley mutter softly, searching again for the right words to articulate the unruly cyclone of emotion churning inside him, “what are you saying?”

Chase grins again, laughing unabashedly, shaking his head feebly and rubbing the back of his neck. “All those smarts in that spiky head and you can’t even take a hint. Didn’t I say?”

Riley’s mouth falls open, some kind of instinctual objection or retort crafted and practiced ready to shield him from the inevitable hurt he’s grown so accustomed to expecting. The trapdoor just as you feel your feet secure on solid ground… But nothing comes out. He closes his mouth as quickly as he’s opened it. And Chase, deciding, apparently, that their conversation is over, that the monumentally nerve-wracking events of the night are now a thing of the distant past, has already rolled over onto the other side of Riley’s bed, positioned comfortably against the wall. He opens an arm, pats his chest, the thick fabric of his hoodie, with a hand. His eyes droop sleepily; his head lolls back.

“C’mere to me,” he says.

Riley hesitates. He touches the hem of his shirt. “What if the others wake up and find you missing from your room?”

“Mate, you’ve gone and kept me up all night,” Chase retorts through a grunt, his extended arm falling limp and exhausted against a pillow. “And thanks to you I’ve now had to practice breaking and entering. Now get over here to me and bury your face right here,” touching softly the vicinity of his breastbone, “and go to sleep, and I’ll go to sleep, and we’ll forget I nearly broke down your door, yeah?”

Riley asks, not moving, “Are you flirting?”

And Chase replies, without a moment’s hesitation, “No.”

Utterly dismantled, Riley sighs, and in the process feels as though the weight of the entire world were slipping out past his lips. His torso and legs and neck all go limp, tired and useless and desperate for peace after tonight… He isn’t sure what he’s capable of; how could he possibly know? He isn’t even sure if he can fully trust himself, so quickly has he jumped to conclusions, conclusions that, now, make him squirm with equal parts disappointment and embarrassment. But… what if… what if he could let go of his fears of rejection, of being let down, to just let someone _in_? Could it really be that simple? Could it _ever_ really be that simple?

_What if it is?_

He is tired. He falls forward, drooping blearily onto the chest he finds there and nuzzling his head so hard into it he wonders, vaguely, if he might bruise it. No words of protest stop him. Feeling his own chest expanding, he wraps his legs around one of Chase’s, his arms holding tight onto the other boy’s torso. His cheeks flutter with overwhelming warmth. His lungs fill with air and light.

“Comfy?” Chase asks, letting Riley maneuver and nuzzle to his heart’s content.

Riley replies, “If someone comes in, I’ll tell them you kidnapped me. You broke in and kidnapped me and are holding me hostage.”

“That why you’re wrapped around me like a koala 'round its mum?”

Riley nods, his nose rubbing forcefully, wonderfully buried in the crevices of the hoodie, into Chase’s skin.

Chase smiles, closing his eyes again, his arm tugging the other boy extra close. “Cute as.”

To which Riley, weary and warm, his mind hazing over, says nothing at all.


End file.
